Classic!
by Albino Shadowz
Summary: Marik desperately wishes to see his beloved Bakura once more after the Ceremonial Duel but what he winds up finding in the Millennium Ring is slightly different. Just a little. Citronshipping Post-series AUish Crackfluff One-shot Contest fic


**Classic!**

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**Citronshipping post-series AU crack for the second round of the Yu-gi-oh! Fanfiction Contest Season 9 ¾. **

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**GET READY FOR CRACKFLUFF. Er… well, my ATTEMPT at crackfluff, anyway. There's some pretty perverse and crude humor in here. You're going to have to keep your mind open as this is VERY AUish but contains a lot of canon elements. Also, the characters kind of act like dimwits and therefore aren't really all that IC. Sorrryyyy. :P **

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It had been a lot of work to extract from the rubble; even getting to the point that he shoved one of the archeologists out of the way and dug with his hands because he was convinced he could get to it more quickly than they could (he was right, of course). It was even more work to convince the archeological team to let him have it, though he always enjoyed a chance at manipulating people without the use of the Millennium Rod. Far more effort still was put into hiding it from his siblings, who were convinced that he had come down with a horrible disease because he was wearing a sweater to cover it up. In Egypt. During the dry season. And the sweater didn't bear his midriff.

But now… after all that work… he finally had his prize.

Marik ran his fingers over the smooth contours around the centerpiece of the Millennium Ring, feeling a borderline perverse grin tugging at his lips. He'd had the Item before when his dark side claimed it after he wiped the floor with Bakura and had reveled in the short time he wore it, stroking the middlemost pendulum and sticking his Rod through it when no one was looking.

To the benefit of Marik's small remaining amount of sanity, the Ishtars now lived aboveground in Egypt. Their house wasn't exactly the most extravagant; being a tomb keeper didn't really make them the fattest cats, but anything was better than a hole in the ground in which he'd been deeply traumatized and made his dark side and nearly doomed all humanity because of it, et cetera et cetera.

He cuddled the Ring like a puppy for a long while, whispering playfully antagonizing things that he knew would greatly upset the spirit dwelling within it. Bakura was always more interesting when he was pissed off. When he was _happy, _on the other hand_… _that was a little disturbing. A happy Bakura was a deadly Bakura. Or at least a semi-medium-dangerous Bakura that could be easily tamed with multiple stab wounds to the arm. Anyway, 'angry' was like his default setting, so Marik wasn't really doing any harm.

He didn't put the Ring on at that moment in time for fear that Bakura would immediately possess his body and toss him aside like yesterday's oatmeal. However, he began to grow a bit frustrated when he spent a good hour or so trying to communicate with the spirit—and feeling pretty stupid after he was reduced to begging on his hands and knees at the end.

"At _least _let me come into your Soul Room!" With mascara-tears running down his face more thickly than that of any teenage girl's, Marik sniffled, "Fine, you know what?"

With a frustrated growl he threw the Ring, which bounced and landed harmlessly on his mattress. Marik's eye twitched. He picked it up and threw it again for good measure.

The Ring took out an innocent desk lamp before gravity overtook it and it dented the equally innocent floor.

Marik stood up and proceeded to lecture the piece of fallen jewelry, arms akimbo. "If you're not going to come out you can just suffer alone like a... lonely loner person. Yeah. You know you'd be collecting dust in some museum in some forgotten armpit of the world right now if it wasn't for me."

The Ring remained stubbornly silent, but if it had a face Marik got the feeling it would probably scowl back at him. And stick its tongue out. But if it had one of those, would have made out with it a lo-o-ong time ago.

His angry mood was dampened a bit as he pressed a hand to his temples. "Look at me," he moaned. "I'm talking to a necklace." The making out part wasn't too disturbing, people did that all the time with inanimate objects on the internet, but going to the extreme of _talking_ to something that couldn't talk back was just the definition of preposterousness.

Of course, he also used to have incidents in which he would become slightly more insane than usual as a result of childhood trauma and his hair would become a lethal weapon (that part was inexplicable), so he kind of had it coming. But that was all behind him now.

The Pharaoh was gone… as was…

"No! I know you're in there, Bakura!" Marik sobbed, snatching up the Millennium Ring and hugging it to himself as if it was a long lost pet or stuffed animal. Needless to say, if it actually _had _been either of those things they would have been suffocated with Marik's love. "I do inappropriate things to a picture of you that my sister would slap me for. Every. Single. Night. W-well, actually, it's not really _you _per se, it's a picture of your host, and I'm sure that he would be kind of disturbed if he knew what I was doing…"

Marik planted a kiss firmly on the lipless Millennium Ring. "You are the only one for me! The hole in my heart could never be replaced by another—"

He glanced out the window and saw Ryou Bakura skipping along through the street. Why Ryou Bakura was in Egypt remains to be seen, but Marik went to the trouble of commenting on his cute little posterior.

His violet eyes grew to a size that rivaled Yugi Moto's as he realized what he had done. "I—I mean, no! Dark, sexy Bakura is the only one for me!"

This sort of rambling went on for a couple of hours before it occurred to Marik to search on the internet for ways that he could communicate with his dearly departed—er—alive and well Bakura. Because everybody knows that the internet knows everything. _And_ it has porn!

…not that Marik knew anything about _that _of course…

Within an undetermined time frame he somehow managed to find enough occult information to keep him working for months and printed enough of it to kill an entire rain forest. After so much research he collapsed on his bed, the Ring absently put on around his neck.

Marik fell into a deep sleep only to wake up immediately afterwards in a hallway. Specifically, the hallway in between the Soul Rooms in the Millennium Ring.

"…oh. That was easy."

That was what Marik _thought _anyway, before he realized that there were two doors instead of the one he expected. Since Bakura was no longer attached to his host, it would make sense to only have one door. Marik turned this over in his brain for a bit before brushing it off. It probably wasn't important.

He took a long look at his choices. One of the doors was more or less a stone slab at an awkward angle allowing sand to slip out of the side and into the hall. The other was your everyday modern door, painted black and spattered with something that looked a lot like blood (but it was probably just Kool-Aid).

And so, using his acute skills, he proceeded to pick one the only way he knew how.

"Eenie meenie minie moe…"

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It was not healthy for the Thief King Bakura to play games, as he always wound up throwing a tantrum when he lost. Nevertheless, he sat in front of a Mancala board with a Kul Elna ghost on the opposite side. It wasn't like there was anything else better to do. A prominent vein was throbbing in Bakura's neck as he glared down at the game while the ghost stared on impassively.

"Ra damn it!" Thief King Bakura cursed and stood up before kicking away the playing pieces. "Why am I so horrible at games? It's like it's my destiny to lose or something!"

The board was quickly lost in the sweeping sands that inconveniently covered every square inch of the Thief King's Soul Room and liked to swallow up whatever poor piece of property that had the misfortune to get buried under it. It was a bit of a hazard, really, and unless he was counting wrong, there were a few of the Kul Elna ghosts missing and a good deal of treasure. Gloomy darkness surrounded the entire place, symbolizing the Thief King's grief. Or something like that. Maybe he was just too busy losing games to dream up a sun. Lazyass.

The ghost he had coerced into participating in the game screeched in its friendly and comforting way, "_Kill the Pharaoh! Destroy the world!"_

The other ghosts that were flying haphazardly through the darkness chorused their agreement.

Bakura rolled his eyes and exhaled. "Look, I know you want to be avenged and everything, but if I told you once, I have told everyone else ninety eight times, there is not much I can _do _right now. The Dark One is taking care of everything, I am sure."

The skeletal face contorted into a snarl that would have killed a lesser man point blank.

Bakura just yawned apathetically and waved his hand in dismissal. "I am sure Zorc is getting around to killing the Pharaoh destroying the world. After all, it has been… er… I lost count after two thousand four hundred twenty four and a half."

"_Oh!_" The ghost screamed nonchalantly in the beautiful language only the other ghosts and of course the exalted Thief King could understand.

Little did either of them know that the Dark One had failed. Pretty royally, actually, as did the portion of his soul known as Yami Bakura. But we'll get to him later.

"Though I have gotten a little perturbed," Bakura began to monologue to himself, glancing up at the sky-like ceiling of his Soul Room and ignoring the spirit that was now clinging to his leg in a cross between a hug and sexual assault. "That we know nothing about what is happening on the outside. If only there was some sort of a sign… or a messenger of some sort sent by the Dark One to his most glorious servant…"

"Oh, Bakuraaaa? Could you light a match in here? I know the whole 'I am the darkness' thing is the huge brick stabilizing your ego, but I just tripped over something that felt suspiciously like a dismembered human head and I want to check to be sure."

Thief King Bakura blinked. "Did you hear that?"

"_All I can hear are the sounds of you not avenging me!"_

Bakura was too busy gawking at the voice of the nasally angel to pay any attention to the ghost. "T-that voice… it is… so…"

Now, the average person would be wondering why in this world or in any other Thief King Bakura, the man who was graced with an uppity accent despite living by himself in Egypt (the ghosts didn't really count, and besides, they weren't the best role models) would find Marik Ishtar's voice even the slightest bit alluring.

Well… the Thief King didn't get out much.

He stood up, and, in typical Disney fashion, went to pursue the man of his dreams with a ghost clinging to his thigh. As an afterthought he illuminated the room to satisfy the beautiful request, causing all of the ghosts to shriek like video game shut-ins that some horrible person had just exposed to sunlight. They all went to hide in the far corners of the room, leaving Bakura to look at the one who had called to him. He kept his expression controlled, but even he couldn't help but swallow when he caught sight of Marik bending over to examine the object he had tripped over.

"Oi, this isn't a dismembered head," Marik exclaimed as he kicked the object. "Just some stupid solid gold pot inlaid with jewels. Feh, what a rip off."

He turned and made eye contact with the Thief King. Two deeply tanned jaws simultaneously hit the floor.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Marik asked, looking a little threatened when he caught sight of stomach muscles that could rival his. "Where's Bakura?"

The Thief King blinked and tilted his head. "I am Bakura."

Marik snorted. "Reeeal funny."

"What is?" All-too-quickly his 'tough guy' expression began to deflate into one of confusion. Had this been anyone else he would have beaten them senseless, but… this person was special, somehow, and not just because of his sexy body and gorgeous voice. There were other appealing features.

Probably…

Maybe…

Perhaps…

"Bakura wouldn't wear something like that if his life depended on it. I would, maybe, but he wouldn't," Marik continued to lecture him on his style while waggling his finger like the Thief King had done something very wrong.

Bakura huffed, beginning to feel a little offended. "I apologize that you don't think my garb suits my status as the Thief King, but—"

"Whoa, whoa, wait, back up," Marik slowly pointed at him as if he was an exotic animal (which, yeah, more or less true). "You're the 'Thief King'? What do you steal?"

Bakura smirked. "Anything that pleases me."

Marik frowned. "Then why can't you steal yourself an article of clothing that _isn't _a skirt?"

The other colored and slowly counted backwards in his head like his therapist back in Egypt had recommended so that he wouldn't strangle the boy. "I do not feel obligated to answer that question."

"Right. So… you're _sure _you're Bakura?"

"Pretty sure."

"Huh."

There was an awkward silence that lasted all of three seconds before Marik launched himself at the Thief King and glomped him. The ghosts quickly gathered in spite of the blinding light in order to issue a few catcalls. Marik, in typical fashion, did not question why there were nearly a hundred skeletal white wisps populating the place and making comments about his posterior (which, by the way, could never hope to rival Ryou Bakura's).

"Oh, Bakura!" he wailed into the thief's neck. "I missed you so badly!"

Apparently it had only taken minor convincing that this was indeed the Bakura he was looking for.

"You missed me..? But I have never seen you before in my life…" Bakura muttered as he hugged him possessively back, but didn't say it loudly enough for it to matter.

"By the way, have you been working out? It's probably the reason I didn't recognize you at first. And then there's that gorgeous tan… hey, Bakura, how did you stay this tan if it's always dark in here? Or was it only dark just now because you were sleeping? Sorry for waking you up from your beauty sleep! Bakura, where did you get this kick ass scar? It beats _my _scars by a long shot, I mean, mine aren't even on my face…"

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Yami Bakura slept in the inky blackness of the Soul Room next door. He was still kinda sore about the whole, 'Pharaoh ruining his plans' thing, so it was only natural that he was murmuring disturbing sleeptalk to himself in between snores.

Snore. "Rip his eyeball out…" Snore. "…n' lick it…" Snore. "…heh heh…"

Yes, Yami Bakura was probably the most messed up of the three Bakurae.

Perhaps it was better that Marik wound up with the Thief King version.

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***coughs* Well, that was weird. xD **

**Maybe you enjoyed it..? Maybe not..? I dunno. Leave me a review, please.**

**~Albino Shadowz**


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